


Hotmess

by yeaka



Category: Psych
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10189127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Carlton’s mystified by Shawn acting up again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Heads, this is my first Psych fic and I’ve only seen a few episodes, so sorry for any inaccuracies. Fill for “Santa/Elf/Etc Costume” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/153917135000/my-holiday-themed-bingo-under-cut-you-can-make).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Pysch or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He meant to spend the night relaxing, but sometimes it’s hard to let work go, and he finds himself, once again, sprawled out on the couch with a case file open in his lap. He’s still half in uniform, stripped of the gun, jacket, and shoes, but still wearing the pants and crisp button-up he left the precinct in. It just feels like he’s so _close_ to a break through, and as he rifles through the mug shots of suspects for the tenth time, he could swear that there’s _something_ off about the first three—

But then he hears the door swing open, and he snaps the file closed in a heartbeat and shoves it, for lack of anywhere better, right beneath the couch cushions. He can’t handle Shawn pulling the surely-fake psychic show at home too. He’s barely got it hidden when Shawn waltzes into the room.

The case immediately leaves Carlton’s mind. His brain might be short-circuiting. His first coherent thought is that he’s worked himself too far and started hallucinating, because even Shawn Spencer wouldn’t walk around in the cheap, cheesy, highly inappropriate ‘Santa’ dresses marketed to teenage girls.

Grinning like nothing’s out of the ordinary, Shawn strolls right across the living room. The fuzzy white rim of the miniskirt rides up his thighs with each step, looking wholly out of place on his hairy legs. It’s atrocious. The crimson midsection is stretched tautly about Shawn’s middle, the top trim obscenely stopping just short of his nipples. If he thought this would be attractive, he thought, like he does about almost everything not case-related, _wrong_.

He drops himself right into Carlton’s lap anyway, earning an ‘oof’ at the hefty weight, and places his hands squarely on Carlton’s shoulders. Carlton can feel his face burning up, but he’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or irritation. Shawn probably thinks it’s excitement. But Shawn’s an idiot.

“Guess what I want for Christmas, Santa,” Shawn purrs, in a voice that just _might_ be alluring, if he wasn’t wearing the most ill fitting outfit Carlton’s ever seen on him.

Resisting the familiar urge to throw Shawn halfway across the room, Carlton bristles, “If I’m the one that’s supposed to be Santa, why are _you_ wearing _that_?”

“What?” Shawn asks faux innocently. When he shrugs, the fluff rustles, drawing Carlton’s eyes to his rosy pecs. “It’s the holiday season! It’s a festive outfit.”

Carlton grits out, “For a _girl_.” And Carlton’s traditional and Shawn should know that.

Shawn’s grin grows twice as wide, which immediately sets off the warning lights in Carlton’s brain. Shifting to open his legs over Carlton’s lap instead of folding them across it, Shawn sits up straighter and starts, “Ah, I’m so glad you brought that up, Lassie! While we’re on the subject, I think I have the perfect idea for my present.”

Carlton has no idea what the subject is and doesn’t care. He abandons the conversation in favour of trying to tug the dress down Shawn’s thighs, now spread wide around him, because the last thing Carlton needs is to get aroused over a mess like this. Shawn just squirms until it’s riding up again, and that squirming doesn’t help. When it’s clear that Carlton won’t be participating, Shawn goes on, “Don’t you think it’s strange that we, two handsome young men, have never had a girl?”

Head jerking up, Carlton snaps, “I’ve had plenty of girls!”

With a lift of his brows and a little scoffing noise, Shawn trivializes, “‘Plenty,’ sure. But we haven’t _together._ And since we’re both red-blooded bisexual mammals, and we’ve already got this extremely festive girl’s outfit, it only makes sense that we—”

“A threesome,” Carlton concludes, interrupting before Shawn can spin down a wild and completely nonsensical tangent. “You want a threesome.”

“Precisely.”

Though Carlton puts his all into it, his glare seems to have no effect on Shawn’s smile. Then Shawn squirms again, quite clearly on purpose, and Carlton drops both hands to Shawn’s unfortunately bare thighs and forcibly holds them still. He knows his blush is weakening the effect of his glower. 

Finally, he breaks the stalemate, explaining coldly, “We’re in a relationship, Shawn.”

Shawn nods his head with his bottom lip jut out: another inevitable prelude to absurdity. “True, true, but that doesn’t necessarily make it exclusive—”

“It’s definitely exclusive,” Carlton hisses, and to his fury, Shawn brightens like that’s just what he was waiting for.

“Of course, I should’ve known; obviously you wouldn’t want to share me! It’s okay, Lassie, I totally understand why you have such a jealousy problem—”

“What?” Carlton abruptly splutters, “No, I don’t—”

“You’ve been all over me all month, and it all makes sense now—you just can’t stand the thought of me with anyone else!”

“No,” Carlton all but growls, trying desperately to drag this back down, even though he can already tell he’s lost control again, “I just believe in strict monogamy—”

“And you want a fully, completely committed, monogamous relationship with me, because I’m your one true love and you could never love anyone else the way you love me. It’s cool, really, I get it—”

Carlton opens his mouth to snarl how dead _wrong_ Shawn is, but he doesn’t get the chance—before any sound comes out, Shawn’s slammed into him, and a second later, he’s full of tongue.

He’d push Shawn off and break up right now, because they’re relatively new and there’s still time to stop this insanity, but Shawn chooses that moment to rock forward into the growing bulge in Carlton’s pants, and his moan is swallowed up in the kiss. As annoying as Shawn is in conversation, his mouth does have other talents. He kisses Carlton with a ferocious _need_ that Carlton hasn’t felt in years, and before he knows it, he finds himself kissing back with just as much fervour, hands flying to Shawn’s perfectly outlined waist to draw it in. 

And then he’s shoved back into the couch and Shawn’s leaning away, crudely wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, and chirping brightly, “Right then—we’re in a serious relationship and you won’t be looking at any cute Santa’s helpers no matter how short their skirts, because you know I’d look better in them anyway.”

Carlton still feels faintly dizzy from an even mixture of arousal and confusion. Shawn climbs easily off him and marches right for the doorway, probably to go upstairs to change back into _real_ clothes.

And Carlton’s left to mutter half to himself, “What just happened here?”

“You realized what a great thing you have,” Shawn laughs in the midst of disappearing around the corner. “And now when you find out what I _really_ want for Christmas, it’ll seem like nothing!”

Nothing with Shawn is ever _nothing_. Alone again, Carlton drops his head into one hand and starts seriously questioning his life choices.


End file.
